


Lost and then Found

by Gerec



Series: Lost and then Found [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Angst, Charles is a Professor, Divorce, Erik is a Cop, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Hopeful Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr is a detective in the NYPD, happily married for four years to Charles Xavier, Professor of Genetics at Columbia University. At least that's what he thinks when he wakes up in a hospital bed, arm broken and head swathed in bandages, his mother Edie holding his hand. A lot of things happened that he doesn't remember...the most important being the fact that he's no longer married to Charles.</p><p>Aka 'Amnesia Fic' on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Black_Betty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/gifts).



> Plot bunnied by the lovely Black_Betty, here's my version of the 'amnesia' trope! For a much more detailed and elegant story on the dissolution of a marriage, definitely check out '[Lonesome On the Shelf](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1311376/chapters/2724925)' by Ikeracity - it's brilliant.
> 
> Edited to Add: The O.C.C.B. is short for the Organized Crime Control Bureau. Timelines mentioned might be a bit confusing because Erik is referring to what he remembers and he's missing a good chunk of his memories. For quick reference:
> 
> \- It's currently 2014  
> \- Erik remembers it being 2010  
> \- Charles and Erik have known each other for ten years (since 2004)  
> \- They've been divorced for almost a year

There’s the soothing sound of his mother’s voice cutting through the haze, singing a familiar lullaby from his childhood. 

And the feel of his hand cradled in her much smaller one, soft and calloused fingers stroking in time to the beat.

He tries to open his eyes and speak, to ask why she’s sitting there beside his bed but he’s just _so tired_ and _why isn’t his body cooperating_ and he finds too soon that he’s drifting off again into a dreamless sleep…

\---

_“…should wake up soon, Mrs. Lehnsherr. His ribs are bruised but thankfully no lung damage. Also his left arm will need to stay in the cast for 6 to 8 weeks while it heals. We won’t know anything more…”_

\---

Erik’s aware of his surroundings more frequently now; can hear voices and movement around him as he drifts in and out of consciousness. His mother is almost always there, steady as the soft beep of the machines that are his constant companion. Occasionally there are other voices, unknown and clinical as they discuss his vitals and administer treatment to a body that he can’t seem to control. 

He only remembers hearing Charles once, warm hands brushing his cheek and fervent whispers barely audible as Erik tries desperately to open his eyes.

_“…please wake up. I know…I know things between us are…but Erik, please I need you to wake up…”_

\---

When he finally opens his eyes it’s to his mother’s wide, relieved smile, too quickly replaced by faces and more faces, all poking and prodding as Erik tries to shake the cobwebs from his brain. There are orders to rest and assurances he’ll feel better soon and it’s such a relief when they all finally leave and his mother is the only one left in the room.

“Oh my sweet boy,” Edie says, eyes glistening as she clutches his hand and places a light kiss on his forehead. “We’ve been so worried, Erik. You’ve been in a coma for weeks and the doctors had no idea when you would wake up.”

He tries to answer her, but his mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton balls and nothing discernable wants to come out. He has to try a couple more times, his mother helping him take a drink of water in between clumsy attempts, before it’s finally unglued enough for his words to be heard.

“Ma...ma,” he asks, voice raspy and low, “where’s Charles?” 

\---

Erik has picked up enough from the doctors talking at him to know he’s in the hospital, recuperating from a hit and run accident on his way home from the precinct. That he’s bruised and battered with a broken arm but miraculously, not as injured as he could have been considering the state of his car when they pulled him from the wreckage.

What he doesn’t know - and the doctors don’t say - is why his husband hasn’t been notified that Erik is awake. Because he knows Charles and Charles would want to be there with him, the moment he woke up. To fuss over him and lecture Erik about being more careful; that being a cop meant he should always be aware of his surroundings.

The strangest look crosses his mother’s face, sad and concerned before she leans forward and plumps the pillow under his head. “Charles has been here every day, Erik. He’s been quite worried about you...we all have,” she whispers. “I’ll call him at the University and let him know how you are. I’m sure he’ll be relieved.”

“I want…to see him,” Erik says, talking a little easier now that his throat doesn’t feel like sandpaper. “Why isn’t he here?”

Edie smiles but doesn’t quite look him in the eye, hands busy with the pillows and blankets she’s arranging and rearranging on his bed. “The doctors…well they would only let immediate family in while you were sleeping. I only managed to sneak him in here once with the help of one of the night shift nurses.”

Nothing his mother just said makes any sense to Erik. Why would they let her in to see him but not Charles? Why would they have to sneak his _husband_ in to see him? Charles would never back down when it came to Erik, no matter what the doctors said. What the hell is going on? 

“I don’t…understand,” he growls, trying not to let his irritation and impatience with the situation and his general helplessness spill over into his words. “I want to…see my husband, Mama. I want Charles. Now.”

The smile on Edie’s face morphs slowly into a frown, a hand sliding to cup his cheek as she answers, very gently but succinctly, “Charles isn’t your husband, Erik. He hasn’t been for about a year now.”

“What?” He doesn’t know what his mother sees in his face but she immediately strokes her hand through his hair, a comforting gesture Erik recognizes only distantly as he tries to digest her words.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Edie asks calmly, after a couple of minutes of stunned silence on his part.

“I don’t…I don’t know, Mama. Charles and I had breakfast, I made scrambled eggs. Then I left for work and he…he didn’t have class until noon. I don’t…how? How? How did this happen? _What happened to my life?_ ”

He is shouting by the end of it, loud enough to bring a slew of doctors and nurses into his room, all clamoring to poke and prod at him some more, asking inane and never-ending questions. There are phrases bandied about - _retrograde amnesia_ and _possible recovery_ – and Erik can only sit and wonder what could possibly have happened for him to lose the man he’s been in love with since he was twenty years old.

\---

It’s a tough truth to swallow, even coming from his own mother, when he clearly remembers waking up - _just this morning_ \- with his arms wrapped around Charles, their legs intertwined beneath the sheets. The way Charles smells of soap and sunshine and Earl Grey tea when Erik presses his nose to the nape of his husband’s neck and breathes in, the first thing he does every morning and the last thing he does before he falls asleep at night. 

It only truly clicks into place when Charles arrives a few hours later, hovering uncertainly at the door before Edie gets up and takes him by the hand, tugging him inside. His husband - ex-husband he has to remind himself – doesn’t look anything like his normal, confident and easy-going self. Charles is strung tighter than a bow-string, eyeing him on the bed with clearly wrought conflict all over his face, uncertain if he should wrap himself around Erik or turn and run out of the room. 

His mother guides Charles into her usual seat beside Erik, before murmuring a quick excuse and leaving the two of them alone. They stare at each other for a long time, the soft humming of the machines seeming much louder in the awkward silence.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks, reaching slowly to take his hand, his touch light and uncertain. “I was…we were all so worried. I’m…” He stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide and wet before taking a deep breath and clenching Erik’s hand a bit tighter. “Thank goodness you’re awake. You’re going to be alright.”

Charles squeezes his hand, loosening his grip as if to let go but Erik only twines their fingers together, keeping the other man close. He wants to know so badly what’s happened between them; why Charles seems so unsure of his welcome and so tentative with his touch. He has never been either of those things with Erik, in the seven years they’ve been together.

It takes a few moments, but eventually the hand relaxes in his hold and Erik allows himself to embrace the comfort in that connection, an anchor in a reality that doesn’t feel quite real. Charles sighs, a pained smile on his face but he doesn’t pull away, letting Erik rub his thumb gently over his skin.

“Edie told me what the doctors said. That you have retrograde amnesia. They aren’t sure when you’ll regain your memories but they think there’s a good chance you’ll recover most—”

“What did I do?” he interrupts, and Charles’ head snaps upwards, gaze tearing away from their joined hands to Erik’s face. “What did I do that made you leave me, Charles? I want you to tell me. _I need to know._ ”

Charles doesn’t look at all surprised by Erik’s outburst – and why should he? He knows better than anyone that Erik attacks every issue head on with laser focus, letting nothing distract or deter him from getting his answers. It’s partly why he’s such a good cop and one of the reasons Captain Shaw took a keen interest in his career and became his mentor.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Charles says, running his hand absently through his tousled hair. “Why don’t you tell me what you remember? What year is it for you? Where do you work? Anything important that comes to mind.”

“It’s May 2010. We live in a two bedroom condo not too far from Columbia. It has a view of Central Park and would be way out of our price range if not for your hefty inheritance. It was your sister’s birthday three weeks ago and we had dinner with her and her new boyfriend Hank. You had seafood linguini and I had the lamb. I work at the 9th and last week I finally broke the big drug case I’ve been working on for the past five months.” 

Charles chuckles, amused and a little rueful. “That’s...very specific.”

He shrugs and his own answer is tinged with irony. “I’ve always had a good memory.”

The comment pulls a startled laugh from Charles’ lips but it’s mixed with a lingering sadness that makes his own insides hurt. If not for the bandages and bruises and the left arm in a sling, he would have pulled Charles into his arms by now, awkwardness and divorce be damned. 

“Yes, well…it’s no wonder you’re confused,” Charles says quietly, expression sympathetic and kind as he looks into Erik’s eyes. “You’ve lost almost four years’ worth of memories. A lot’s happened since then.” 

Erik snorts; because isn’t that the understatement of the century. “Yes, I gathered. I woke up this morning with a husband, Charles. I don’t know what I could have done in the last four years that’s made you stop loving me.”

“I didn’t…” Charles argues, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “It’s not...it’s complicated, Erik. It wasn’t just your fault that we’re not together anymore. We grew apart. Things got pretty bad…and in the end there wasn’t much of our marriage left to save.”

“Just tell me,” he snaps, nerves and patience both wearing thin at Charles’ vague assertions. “Tell me everything. All of it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up in a hospital bed with no idea how you got here? And everything you know about your life is no longer true? I need this Charles, tell me the damned truth! Tell me, I can handle it.”

For a moment, Erik thinks he’s pushed too hard, too fast; Charles’ expression shutters, lips pursed with his hand sliding from Erik’s grip. It’s not his intention to antagonize his ex-husband, and some of his panic must show on his face because Charles just lets out a loud huff of breath before settling back into his armchair.

“Alright, Erik. I guess the best place to start is with your old Captain, Sebastian Shaw.”

He can only describe the feeling as surreal, listening to Charles recount the story of their lives these past four years with Erik as the troubled hero. How his mentor transferred to the O.C.C.B. and he followed a few months later, taking on more and more cases with Shaw’s support and encouragement. How increasingly long days and late nights became the new norm for them both, as Erik embraced his responsibilities with fierce pride and enthusiasm and Charles wrestled with his course load and his dissertation for a second PhD. Until they were mere strangers and visitors in each other’s lives.

Charles relays the information with the detachment of an academic, though it's clear to Erik that it pains him to recall the events. He glosses over much of the details – forgotten dates and all-night stakeouts, lonely meals and a cold bed; details he gets later from Raven, who’s happy to disclose his failings as husband to her beloved big brother. The end of their marriage happens over the course and distance of weeks and months, a slow and steady weariness creating a chasm too wide to bridge. 

“We never talked about it?” he asks, wondering how either of them could have let their relationship deteriorate beyond repair. “Didn’t we try to fix things between us? Did we...when did we stop loving each other, Charles?”

The other man hesitates and the conflict is clear on his face, whether he should protect Erik from the ugly truth or to lay it out plain. “We fought more than we talked, Erik. You were so angry; you didn’t think I understood how important your career was to you. Angry that I would even question why we were still together when we barely spent time in the same room. And _I_ was angry – angry that you thought I was making you choose. Angry that if you did choose that I would _lose_.”

Erik doesn’t _feel_ any of the emotions Charles describes, disconnected as he is from the events that have so dramatically changed their lives. He wants to be furious at them both for laying waste to their four year marriage but can muster nothing but a bone-deep ache at the bitter loss. 

“You let Shaw push you,” Charles continues, his voice hoarse and strained. “He pretended to look out for you while he took credit for all your hard work and still you didn’t stop. It was like you were obsessed; that every criminal you arrested would get you a little bit closer to avenging your father’s death.”

A death that haunts Erik for its senselessness and brutality; the shooting of an innocent man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I asked Edie not to get involved but you know your mother does as she pleases, Erik. Though it didn’t make a difference really. Things were…broken between us and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to fix it.”

“How long?” he asks and Charles looks up distractedly, shaken from his memories by Erik’s voice. “How long have we been separated?”

“Our divorce was finalized almost a year ago. A year next month actually,” Charles answers with a sad smile. 

“And are we still friends at least? Tell me we haven’t lost each other completely.”

Charles shakes his head, thumb hurrying to brush the lone tear sliding down his cheek. “No Erik, we’re not. This is the first we’ve seen or spoken to each other in over six months.” 

“No,” Erik says, because his mind can’t wrap itself around Charles’ revelation; _can’t_ comprehend not having Charles Xavier there every day of his life. Nothing and no one (except his mother) is as important as Charles and hasn’t been since the first night they met; not since Erik bumped into the Genetics student on his way back from the bar, spilling half his beer all over both their shirts. Not since Erik apologized profusely to the cute brunet with the brilliant smile and sparkling blue eyes and Charles gave Erik his number with a wink, insisting they go out for coffee the next day after classes.

He remembers that first meeting – their first date really – as clear as though it happened yesterday. Charles came into the cafe from the blistering November cold, hair windblown and ridiculously attractive, sporting fingerless gloves and a dark blue scarf around his neck. Erik had felt the jolt of desire like a punch in the gut, the delicious pull from the night before solidifying over the course of unhurried hours into a tension so palpable he found it difficult to think straight. Coffee turned into dinner and then an invitation to Charles’ place, whispered against his lips as Erik lost himself completely to the taste of Charles’ sinful mouth.

Erik let his head fall back against the pillow, a great heaving breath escaping his chest. “No. This is unacceptable. You can’t expect me to just...sit here while you tell me it’s over! I _refuse_ to believe it! We would never let things end like that! Never!” He glares at his ex-husband, who looks a bit lost at his outburst. “You filed for the divorce, didn’t you? What did you do? How did you get me to agree to it?” 

Charles frowns, eyes narrowing at the accusations. “Yes, I was the one who filed for divorce,” the other man snaps and in the back of his mind, Erik knows he’s being unfair - he just can’t do anything to stop himself, mired as he is in anger and despair. “Because I refused to be married to a stranger anymore Erik and that’s what we were! And I didn’t _do_ anything to make you agree! You never once asked me to reconsider, nor did you contest the divorce. You signed those papers willingly. All on your own.”

At least he still knows Charles well enough to anticipate what happens next, Erik reaching to grab Charles’ hand before he can get up and out of the armchair. “Please,” Erik begs, feeling desperate and off-kilter, “I’m sorry. Look I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Please don’t go.”

With a sigh and a glare that’s both fond and irritated, Charles settles back into his seat and the two of them sit in silence as Erik tries to absorb everything he’s been told. He tries to imagine the bitterness and the hurt he must have felt when he got served with divorce papers, no matter the state of their marriage at the time. Can imagine his own pride and stubbornness the reasons he didn’t ask Charles to reconsider, if he thought his husband was ready to walk away.

“We can try again,” he says, placing a kiss on the back of Charles’ hand and clutching it to his chest. “We can fix things…we’ll make better choices this time. I love you Charles and I can’t imagine I ever stopped, no matter what happened between us. We’ll consider this a chance to wipe the slate clean and start over.” Erik chuckles and points to the bandages wrapped around his head, giving Charles a wry grin. “See I’m already there.”

Whatever he might have expected the reaction to be – happiness, anger, ridicule – it isn’t _this_ , Charles lurching to his feet and pulling away, grabbing his jacket and backing slowly towards the door. Erik stares in shock as Charles struggles into his jacket, muttering curses under his breath before spinning around to face him.

“I’m sorry Erik but I can’t,” Charles says, words just above a whisper. “It was devastating. It’s taken so long for me to move on and I just can’t…” 

“Charles, please…”

“No, you have to listen to me, Erik.” And this time, Charles voice is firm and unwavering. “The doctors believe you have an excellent chance of recovering your memories and when you do, things will go back to the way they were before your accident. I can’t let you drag us both through a reconciliation, just to break up again in the end. I’m sorry.”

“How can you be sure?” Erik growls, because he’s not going to let Charles walk away from him again without a fight. “How do you know for sure what will happen? Maybe it won’t matter if I get my memories back. Maybe I’ll only care that we’re together again and fuck everything else, Charles because I love you dammit!”

“I know because I _know_ you Erik! I’ve known you for ten years and having amnesia doesn’t change who you are!”

“I don’t care! I don’t care what’s happened Charles! There’s nothing that could possibly make me—”

“I slept with your partner!” Charles shouts and the admission stuns them both into an abrupt silence. The words that follow are much softer and a bit sorrowful. “I was drunk and it just…happened. We’d been divorced for months and I guess I just thought…I didn’t think—” 

“Didn’t think I’d find out?” Erik asks, bile lodged in his throat at the thought of someone else – someone he _trusted_ \- touching his husband. 

“Didn’t think you’d care,” Charles answers bitterly, before turning and walking out the door.


	2. A House, not a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets visitors (including his old partner!) and Edie is the world's sweetest inadvertent cock-blocker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I promised happy times in chapter 2...but then I couldn't stop writing more and more angst for poor Erik. That means we'll get a whole other chapter I hadn't planned on writing and the happy ever after will unfortunately have to wait.

_“I slept with your partner!”_

The words ring over and over again in his ears, a revelation meant to devastate and wound, squashing any attempt at reconciliation.

Charles is hurt and scared and lashing out, pushing Erik away to protect himself using harsh and irrefutable truth. He knows this, because Erik knows _Charles_ , and because he might have done the same thing if he were in his ex-husband’s shoes. Though knowing and understanding doesn’t make the betrayal – perceived if not actual fact - any easier to take.

He refuses to talk about it when his mother returns to the room, closing his eyes so she can’t see that they’re red and swollen, frustration deep and clawing in the pit of his stomach. It takes him an entire day before he can speak to her again without his throat threatening to close up. Another before he can pick up the phone to call Charles.

Charles doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t return Erik’s call.

Erik leaves another message. Then another. Sends him text after text after text.

Nothing.

By the third day he’s going half mad, still bed-ridden and ‘under observation’ by the doctors and getting absolutely nowhere in his attempts to reach Charles. He can’t even muster a smile when his mother arrives after lunch with a Tupperware container of rugelach and a pastrami on rye from Erik’s favorite kosher deli.

“You didn’t have to go out of your way to bring me lunch Mama,” he says, taking the sandwich from Edie’s hand with a sigh. “I don’t want you to tire yourself out looking after me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m going to take care of you! I’m your mother!” Edie hands him a bottled water, watching with an affectionate smile as he unwraps the sandwich and takes a large bite, groaning with satisfaction. “Plus I didn’t go out of my way. Charles brought it with him when we met for lunch. He asked me to bring it to you.”

Erik almost chokes on his food, swallowing a mouthful of pastrami before blurting out, “You saw Charles? What did he say? Why isn’t he returning my calls?”

“Yes, we met for lunch today; we try to get together at least every other week when he’s not too busy with his students.” Edie reaches for the bottled water and uncaps it, handing it to Erik who quickly takes a long drink. “He said you’d be tired of the hospital food. And that you were probably craving a pastrami sandwich. So he asked me to bring this to you. It has extra pickles.”

The consideration and care from Charles isn’t a complete shock - he’s always been the more thoughtful one in the relationship – but he’s also sending a rather painfully conflicting message to Erik, when he so purposely refuses to see or even speak to him. “Why didn’t he bring it himself?” he asks, trying very hard not to let impatience and despair color his words. “Why won’t he talk to me?”

Edie runs her slender fingers through hair that’s not covered in bandages, an attempt to soothe the obvious ache in her son’s heart. “Give him a little time Erik, to come to terms with everything that’s happened. He went from almost losing an ex-husband he’s not on speaking terms with, to having the same man tell him everything that’s happened these last few years doesn’t matter. Charles loves you and he wants to help you…he just doesn’t want you two to hurt each other again.”

“What should I do, Mama?” Erik whispers, wrapping his arms around Edie’s waist as she hugs him close. “I don’t know how to live without Charles. I don’t know what to do.”

“Be patient and have faith, as I do, that things will work out. You and Charles may have given up on your marriage but I never have. You’ll find your way back to each other again, I know it.”

\---

His mother’s assurances do much to buoy Erik’s spirits over the next few days, as Charles continues to stonewall him and the doctors barrage him with another round of tests. His friends and colleagues old and new also prove a most welcome distraction, though they come armed with things they all know will annoy him; balloons and flowers and oversized get-well cards.

Erik is pleased to see Darwin and Alex from his days at the 9th, the partners showing up late one night with wings and beer they smuggled past the hospital staff using Darwin’s charm and Alex’s boyish good looks. They touch briefly on his amnesia but thankfully don’t ask too many questions and stay just long enough to share a laugh about the ‘good old days’ and wish him well.

He gets visitors too from the O.C.C.B., colleagues he’s supposedly known for three years but doesn’t remember ever meeting. Ororo Munroe is warm and boisterous with a slightly obnoxious sense of humor, ignoring Erik’s vehement protests and dropping a giant teddy bear/perp in sunglasses and a trench coat on his lap. Her partner Emma Frost he finds, is much like Erik - a sharp eye with an even sharper tongue, watching the proceedings with a smirk and delivering an occasional one-liner at his expense.

Sebastian Shaw pays him a visit one Thursday afternoon, looking stylish and relaxed as ever in an expensive dark grey suit. 

“Erik, my boy,” Shaw says with a wide grin, “I see you’re doing much better! Good to see you awake and on the mend.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Erik answers, finding it reassuring to see his mentor again, a consistent and influential presence in his life for so many years. “I just wish the doctors would discharge me already and let me out of here.”

Shaw shakes his head and chuckles, leaning forward slightly in the armchair as he answers, “Always so impatient Erik. Focus on getting well and you’ll be back to work in no time.”

“I don’t know…between the arm and the therapy for my memory loss I have no idea how long it’s going to take. I just want to get back to work as soon as possible.”

“Really?” Shaw asks, blue eyes accessing Erik with a penetrating gaze. “Don’t you want some time off to try and get your memories back?”

They had all asked him the same question – the doctors, his mother and Alex; all three had been surprised by his indifference. _“Can the therapy guarantee that my memory will return?”_ he’d asked and the doctors told him no. _“Will remembering the end of my marriage make the divorce easier to handle?”_ he’d asked and his mother smiled sadly and shook her head. _“Can I still be a good cop if I can’t remember where my desk is?”_ he’d asked and Alex had laughed and patted him on the back.

“I feel out of control Sebastian,” he answers, rubbing his eyes tiredly as the Captain watches, “I hate feeling so disconnected and out of sync with my own life. I need to do something normal…get back into a routine maybe and not waste time on memories that will either come back or not on their own.”

“In that case,” Shaw exclaims, patting Erik’s knee good-naturedly, voice dripping with satisfaction. “I’ll do everything I can to help you. It’s the least I can do for my best detective.”

\---

Moira MacTaggert arrives just before dinner the following day, toting take-out from the greasy diner down the street from their precinct. The glorious smell of the cheeseburger sets his stomach rumbling, but seeing his partner again is more than enough to obliterate Erik’s appetite.

“Eat it while it’s hot,” Moira says, dropping her purse on the ground with a grunt and flopping into the chair next to Erik’s bed. “I tipped the cabbie extra to get me here in less than ten minutes.”

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise he muses, as Moira shoves the bag into his hands, that Charles would find comfort in her arms after their split. She and Erik have always worked well together, their years together as partners making her one of the few people he values and trusts with his life. That she became best friends with Charles was something Erik welcomed once upon a time; had in fact teased Charles that his compatibility with Moira made her more ideally suited to him than Erik.

The irony is not lost on him now.

“What…why aren’t you eating?” Moira asks, frowning as he sits there with his fists clenched around the take-out bag. “What’s wrong, Lehnsherr? Look if you’re mad that I didn’t come sooner you should know I’ve been working undercover and I just found out about your accident this morning.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, MacTaggert, acting like everything’s okay,” he growls. “Like you didn’t stab me in the back by sleeping with my husband! I don’t care if Charles and I are divorced, you’re supposed to be my friend! My _partner_! I trusted you, how could you—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on! I never slept with Charles!” Moira objects, throwing both hands in the air to ward off the accusations. “Where did you get the ridiculous idea that I slept with Charles?”

Erik can’t help but shout, livid that she would try to lie when he’d heard the words straight from his ex’s mouth. “He told me! That he was _drunk_ and it _just happened_ and--”

“God you idiot he wasn’t talking about _me_ —”

“He said my partner--”

“—he was talking about your other partner! Howlett! At the O.C.C.B!”

“Who?”

The name only sounds vaguely familiar, Erik having no recollection at all of his time in the force after leaving the 9th. He must look suitably bewildered because Moira seems to take pity on him, pinched brow smoothing over and expression softening as she answers, “Detective James Howlett. Logan, as he likes to be called. You told me you guys were at the Academy around the same time. He was assigned to you after you joined the O.C.C.B. I think you two were pretty close.”

“Apparently not _that_ close,” he snarls, ripping the bag open and crumpling it into a ball, whipping it across the room and into the garbage can, “if he fucked my husband, MacTaggert. Sorry, _ex_ -husband.”

Moira has the good sense not to respond, smart enough to know that he needs to vent and generous enough to allow it directed her way. He’s aware that he should apologize for his accusation, but is frankly too wired and pissed off to form the right words.

“Look Erik,” she says with a sigh, “I know you hate it when you think you’re being pitied so I won’t say that I’m sorry you got hurt and that you lost four years of your life. Or how tough it must be to wake up and suddenly find yourself divorced with no clue how it happened. I’m just glad you’re still in one piece considering your car was a complete and utter wreck.”

“How did you--” He shakes his head. “You talked to Charles.” 

His old partner grins, a slight tilt of her head that he finds both annoying and reassuringly familiar. “That...and I saw the file. I work for the CIA now.”

“What the hell, MacTaggert? The CIA?”

And so Moira fills in more of the gaps, giving Erik details of the last few years from her perspective as he inhales the cheeseburger in his hands. Her recruitment to the CIA happened soon after his departure from the 9th, though they stayed close for some time afterwards, Moira a fixture at the Xavier-Lehnsherr household until both Erik’s and Charles’ schedules became too busy for even an occasional drink with their group of friends. Erik eventually disappeared from their lives completely, too focused on his cases to notice how unhappy and lonely his husband had become.

“You and I weren’t really talking much, when things started going downhill between you and Charles,” Moira says. “So I really only have his side of the story. He didn’t want to give up on your marriage, Erik, even when everyone else was telling him it was over. I think he was at the end of his rope and he filed for divorce as a last ditch-effort to get you to fight for the marriage. I don’t think he really expected you to sign the papers.”

“You’re telling me I just gave up? Just like that?” Because he can’t possibly hope to understand his own actions; how he could have changed so much that he wouldn’t fight the entire universe to have Charles by his side.

Moira reaches to pat his hand, voice carefully neutral in reply, “I can’t answer that I’m sorry, Erik. Charles is the only one that can give you the answers you need.”

He scoffs, the sting of rejection still fresh in his mind. “He won’t return my calls and he refuses to see me. I don’t know—” A thought occurs to Erik mid-sentence, almost too cruel to contemplate. “Are they together? Charles and Logan?”

“What? You mean dating? No.” Moira answers, shaking her head for emphasis. “That was a one-time thing and as far as I know, Charles feels pretty bad that it happened--” 

“He _should_ ,” Erik mutters.

“—and if it makes you feel better, when you found out about it, you punched Logan in the face and gave him a black eye.”

He laughs, because what else can he do? He can’t feel satisfaction from a confrontation he doesn’t recall having, can only feel hurt and resentment towards Charles for doing something the man had every right to do. “Do you think I’d feel better if I punched him again?”

“If that’s what you need, Lehnsherr,” she says with a sly grin, eyes crinkling the way it always does when she’s plotting. “I can make it happen.” 

\---

The doctors discharge him a couple of weeks after Moira’s visit, his arm still in a cast but healing well along with the rest of his injuries. He’s waiting impatiently for the paperwork to be filled out, restless and irritable, desperate to breathe something other than the stale hospital air when he’s startled by a familiar voice at the door.

“Hello, Erik.”

He hasn’t seen or heard from Charles in what feels like forever and the mad crush of everything he’s feeling when Erik sees him – relief, joy, heartache, anger, hurt, disappointment – is enough to knock the breath right out of his lungs. It’s all a giant convoluted mess, mixed in with that sense of sweet, ceaseless yearning he’s felt for Charles since almost the moment they met. 

It’s also enough of a surprise to stun him into silence, which only serves to make Charles fidget uncomfortably for a moment before walking into the room and standing in front of Erik. He’s close enough to touch; close enough to smell the light woodsy cologne so distinctively ‘Charles’, a gift Erik bought his then-boyfriend to celebrate their first three months together.

“What are you doing here?”

Charles all but flinches, straightening himself up to his full height, the soft look on his face morphing into something still polite but much more distant. It makes Erik want to kick himself for the terse greeting, wishing he’d been able to hide the lingering feelings of hurt and resentment from his ex’s revelation and radio silence these past few weeks. 

“I’m sorry look…I mean—” He sighs, wrapping his good arm around Charles and pulling him into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

The embrace is awkward at first, Charles’ body stiff and cautious, before he relaxes and returns the hug, folding his own arms around Erik. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have ignored your calls, it’s just…I just needed some time.”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs into the soft wavy hair, lips pressing a whisper light kiss on the top of Charles’ head. “I’m just glad you came back.”

“Edie told me that you’re being discharged today,” Charles says, the words slightly muffled against Erik’s shoulder. “I thought I would come and give her a hand. Help you get home and get settled.”

He snorts and Charles looks up, pulling away slowly, only for Erik to tighten his hold and say, “I don’t even know where home is.”

The arms around his back squeeze for just a moment, and then Charles is pulling back and straightening his jacket, lips pursed in a frown that Erik wants to chase away with a kiss. 

“Home is…home. I was the one that moved out,” Charles says, turning away to grab Erik’s bag off the bed. “Is this everything then? Should I take a look around? Make sure you didn’t forget anything important like an iPad or—”

“Charles, please I think we should--”

“It’s good that you didn’t move after the divorce,” Charles interjects, eyes ostensibly searching the room for stray objects while he studiously avoids looking at Erik. “It could be worse couldn’t it? If you had to go back now to a place you didn’t recognize?”

Erik’s not sure it isn’t worse actually, going home – to _their_ home – when Charles no longer lives there, a glaring reminder of who and what he no longer has in his life. He’s about to say just that when his mother pops her head in the door, interrupting his train of thought with a brilliant smile.

“Ready to go, boys?” 

\---

At first glance the condo looks exactly the same; clean and modern with sleek stainless steel appliances, plush leather furnishings and giant floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of Central Park. Everything is elegant and immaculate, though polished and sterile in a way he doesn’t recall - like a boutique hotel in its clinical perfection.

Edie leaves them alone after only a few minutes, citing missing ingredients she needs to pick up for a special welcome home dinner. Charles looks a little pained as she leaves, then proceeds to avoid Erik’s gaze again as he putters around the open kitchen, grinding beans and pouring water into a fancy coffee maker he doesn’t recognize.

He lets his eyes wander around the living room, trying to reconcile the home he knows with the space that currently surrounds him. Incongruities abound – there are pictures missing from the mantle over the fireplace, one of Charles and Erik taken on their wedding day and another from their trip to Aspen, Erik covered in snow and missing a ski, being helped off the ground by a laughing Charles.

A painting is missing from the wall, a gift from Raven’s first collection holding pride of place amidst a few of the less ostentatious art pieces from the Xavier estate.

The clutter of books and papers, red pens and empty tea cups that used to litter every counter and table top – gone.

His favorite grey blanket is no longer draped over the couch, the one that was warm and fuzzy and smelled like Charles; the one they cuddled under on cold winter days, watching the snow blanket the world outside.

Erik uncovers dozens of these little details as he walks from room to room, a numbness settling in as he finds more and more empty gaps where his husband used to be. There’s only one toothbrush in the bathroom and none of the apple scented shampoo. His walk-in closet is half empty, bare of his ex’s suits and cardigans and Erik’s favorite blue shirts that match Charles’ eyes. 

It hits him hardest when he finds the empty office, the room devoid of everything now but a single bookshelf half full with Erik’s own small collection. The entirety of Charles’ presence that used to fill this room with barely controlled chaos is gone, a glaring hole in what’s left of Erik’s life.

“Coffee’s ready,” Charles says from the doorway but Erik doesn’t turn around, doesn’t want the other man to know that he can’t quite see through the thin veil of tears threatening to overwhelm him.

Walking a little farther in, Erik stops and leans against the wall, staring out the window at the bustling sidewalk below. “Where do you live now?” he asks, throat swollen and sore.

“I live with Raven,” Charles answers quietly, stepping inside the room but staying propped against the opposite wall, sensing the need for Erik to have some space. “She had lots of room at her place. And she spends quite a bit of time at Hank’s anyway so she always has a place to go when she gets sick of me.”

The last part of the sentence is said with a hint of sarcasm, though Erik knows him well enough to hear the trace of melancholy in those words. “That’s good,” he replies, “I’m glad you two are getting along so well.”

He gets a wry chuckle from Charles, followed by a soft sigh. “Yes, I’m…it turns out I’m not very good at being alone. So it’s been wonderful having Raven around to keep me sane.”

Erik swallows hard and then turns to face Charles, determined to ask even if it feels like he’s being stabbed through the heart. “Is that why you slept with Logan? Because you were lonely?”

“Erik, I don’t think—”

“Please…I need to know.”

Charles bites his lip, no doubt warring internally on how to answer Erik’s question. “Partly, maybe. I know I didn’t set out to do it. We bumped into each other at the bar that night and I was already quite drunk. I asked him to keep me company and he did. And then he helped me get a cab home…I asked him to come over. 

“It still hurt _so much_ ,” Charles explains, taking a deep and shuddering breath, “and I just wanted not to _feel_ for a little while. And a part of me knew that sleeping with Logan would hurt you…and that’s what I wanted. I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me.”

The silence hangs heavy between them, broken only when Erik takes a step closer and demands, “When did this happen?”

“Six months ago.”

The realization kicks in after a few moments, as Erik pieces together bits of their previous conversation before he blurts out, “Six months—is that why we haven’t spoken in six months? Because I found out about Logan?”

Charles looks up and meets Erik’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t find out, Erik. I told you.”

“Why?” he snaps, taking another step closer with fists clenched, “why would you do that? To rub it in my face? Do you really hate me so much you would…you would…”

“No,” Charles yells, pushing himself off the wall and into Erik’s space until the two are standing toe to toe. “Because I couldn’t let you go! I kept hoping we would find a way to work things out even after the divorce and it was _stupid_ and _pointless_ and I needed it to end! When I told you, you made it clear you were done with me. And that’s what I needed to hear to move on."

An entire minute rolls by, the two men glaring at each other until Erik squeezes his eyes shut and exhales with a ragged sigh. "I think I might hate you right now, just a little,” Erik whispers, hands shaking as Charles stares at him with a wretched expression on his face. “I also _know_ that I never stopped loving you, before, despite everything that happened."

A mirthless chuckle erupts, raw and wounded from Charles’ lips. "I could take you hating me better than feeling nothing from you at all."

“Is that what happened?” Erik asks, disbelieving, reaching involuntarily to cup Charles’ face in his hand. “Did I really stop…I stopped loving you?” Because the notion is inconceivable, that he could have ever stopped caring about Charles, who he promised in front of all their family and friends to cherish and love for the rest of their lives.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Charles answers, his gaze soft and vulnerable as he leans unconsciously into Erik’s touch. “It doesn’t matter because it takes more than love for a marriage to work. We stopped putting each other first and we couldn’t find a way to compromise. So…here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” he agrees, thumb stroking warm skin as Erik wraps his fingers gently around the nape of Charles’ neck, pulling him close. “Here we are,” he murmurs, leaning in and parting Charles’ lips with a slow, tentative kiss.

It isn’t until this very second, with Charles in his arms, groaning softly as Erik deepens the kiss that he finally feels whole again; that’s he only waking up now after weeks of wandering in a haze of confusion and heartache. It’s clear that whatever the state of their relationship and their marriage, Erik wants nothing more than to make things right with Charles.

“I want you,” he says, biting down just enough on Charles’ bottom lip to make him moan and push harder against Erik. “God I want you, so much. I’ve missed you,” he chants, words of endearment falling from his lips as he presses Charles against the wall, wrapping himself around the compact body with barely restrained longing. “I’m never letting you go again.”

Charles makes a choking sound and Erik stops, only to be yanked back down for a rough devouring kiss that leaves them both hard and panting for breath. He wants to do everything at once – to touch bare skin and slide his hands over toned muscles. To lick Charles from his balls to the tip of his shaft, swallowing him down whole. To fuck him against the wall until he comes from nothing but the feel of Erik’s cock slamming inside of him.

He doesn’t hear the key in the door, doesn’t understand why Charles is shoving him away and straightening his shirt until he hears his mother call for them from the kitchen. Erik is still standing there, his hair mussed and lips swollen when Charles tries to push past him a few moments later, face grim and determined.

“Wait a second…where are you going?”

“I can’t do this,” he hisses, and Erik is too stunned to do anything but stare. “We can’t…no, this doesn’t solve anything alright? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it get this far. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me either.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I get it. To you, we’re still together. You don’t understand why we – why _I_ \- can’t just pretend it was all a bad dream and start over. But it’s not that easy for me, Erik. Too much has happened! And falling into bed with you right now would be a big mistake for both of us.” 

“Charles,” he begs, “please don’t go.” But the words are barely out of his mouth before his ex-husband is walking away again, no way for Erik to know when - or _if_ \- he’s coming back.


	3. The Ugly Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles' admission is difficult to hear. And Erik discovers something he didn't know about Charles.

His mother comes to his rescue, managing somehow to persuade a reluctant Charles to stay for dinner. She uses Charles’ own weaknesses against him – his inordinate fondness for both Edie and her cooking - enticing him with his favorite brisket dish via a masterful combination of gentle coaxing and motherly guilt. If she notices their flushed faces or the ratcheted tension in the room she makes no mention of it, dishing out seconds and thirds of every course with a firm hand and a warm smile.

She steers the conversation with the skill of a diplomat, asking Charles probing questions about his students and his latest research paper on genetic mutations, details she’s obviously retained from their regular lunch dates. Erik can’t help but be grateful as he watches Charles slowly relax over the course of the meal, tension in his shoulders easing and the harried look on his face replaced by an almost peaceful one.

At Edie’s insistence the two retire to the living room after dinner, Erik pulling out the chess board to Charles’ surprise and undisguised pleasure. They play almost entirely in silence, his mother’s soft humming from the kitchen a soothing background to their spirited match. Erik loses himself in the familiarity of the scene; to the intensity with which Charles’ brow wrinkles in concentration and the way they anticipate each other’s moves from years playing together.

“I’m going to go get settled in the guest room,” Edie interrupts, Erik startling when he looks up to find that his mother has made her way over without a sound. “Keep playing you two. I just came to say good night.”

“I should go--” Charles starts but Edie cuts him off before he can say anything more.

“No, you shouldn’t. Stay and finish your game. There’s more tea and coffee on and make sure you have another slice of cake before you go.” She leans down and kisses each of them on the cheek before squeezing Charles’ shoulder gently and orders, “Stay.”

They both watch as she walks down the hallway before disappearing quietly behind the closed door. He catches a glimpse of Charles’ face just before he turns back, eyes soft and a little wide and is infinitely glad that the divorce didn’t sever the bond between the two people he loves most in the world.

“I’ve missed this,” Charles admits, and it’s obvious that it hurts him to say the words out loud. “An evening like this, with the three of us. It’s been so long since…” His voice trails off and Erik almost reaches out to take his hand. “I don’t know how to do this, Erik.”

“Neither do I,” he sighs, leaning back into the armchair and rubbing his face with both hands. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to act around you. All I know is how much I love you, Charles; how much I’ve _always_ loved you. I want you and I miss you so much and all of this…this is _killing_ me.”

Charles’ face crumples at his admission, his eyes squeezing shut as though to ward off a blow. “I know and I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do to make this better. I don’t think that I _can_.”

“Can you at least tell me if you still love me? Can I at least have that?”

“God I wish I didn’t,” Charles answers with a mirthless chuckle, his words sharp and despairing. “You have no idea how much I needed to just…not love you anymore and move on.”

And what can Erik possibly say to _that_? The anger that spikes is harsh and almost overwhelming; he has to force himself to take a deep breath and unclench his fists, stifling the urge to yell or throw something against the wall and watch it shatter. For the briefest of moments Erik wishes he had never woken up in that hospital bed. Never had to hear Charles tell him that his love for Erik was something to _overcome_ , like a bad addiction he needed to work at every day to shake from his system.

“You think I’m being cruel. And maybe I am but I just…I’m trying to be honest with you.” Charles’ face is a mask of sorrow, eyes rimmed with red. “Do you know how we celebrated our last anniversary, Erik? We were supposed to have dinner at your favorite restaurant. You texted me ten minutes before our reservation to cancel because something urgent came up at work. And maybe if that was the only time it happened it wouldn’t hurt so much but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even the second or the third time you’d cancelled on me at the last minute.

“Maybe I should have asked you then, what you’re asking me now. ‘Do you still love me Erik?’ Maybe it would have been easier for me to end things sooner. But I couldn’t ask you because I was afraid of your answer.”

He tries to picture doing the things Charles described; fingers texting _'Sorry can’t make it, something’s come up'_ as he’s sprinting out the door of the precinct, mind already miles away as he works through the details from Shaw’s debriefing. How it contrasts so sharply from what he actually remembers, when Erik used to count down the hours and minutes of the day until he could get home and wrap his arms around his husband again. 

When he looks up, Charles is no longer sitting on the other side of the chess board, standing instead with his jacket in hand. Erik wonders how long his mind wandered, while Charles watched and waited with those sad eyes. As if he wasn’t the perpetrator, tearing Erik’s heart out with apologies and polite condemnation. “So that’s it then? You’re moving on and I…I just need to accept it?”

“It’s better this way,” Charles answers and he certainly sounds convinced of his own assertion. “With time, I think we can be friends again Erik. And I’d like that very much. I care about you and I want to help you. Any way that I can.”

 _Then don’t leave me_ , Erik wants to scream, wants to hold him and shake him and make him see. _Don’t do this please_ , he thinks but doesn’t say as he walks Charles to the door. _I could never stop loving you_ , gets stuck in his throat as Charles turns and pats him awkwardly on his good arm.

“Goodbye Erik.” 

\---

If Erik can be thankful for anything that night, it’s that his mother doesn’t come out to check on him once Charles leaves. He’s not sure he can stand even the barest hint of pity and understanding, when all he wants to do is lash out at the world. The rest of the night passes by in a blur of whiskey and self-loathing, a useless attempt to drown the taste of his ex-husband from his lips.

He wakes to the smell of strong coffee and a familiar jazz tune playing softly in the background, Edie humming along as she putters about in the kitchen. Erik gives her a weak smile and a half-hearted ‘morning’ when she sets a steaming mug down in front of him, grateful that she doesn’t ask him how he’s feeling. 

“It occurs to me that we might be going about this all wrong, Erik,” she says, sinking into Charles’ armchair with her own cup of coffee, voice light as she watches him struggle to sit up. “The dinner last night…we’re trying too hard to remind Charles of the way things used to be and I think it’s scaring him. It’s too much too fast.”

“Well what do you suggest I do,” he snaps, wincing at the unintended sharpness and the look his mother levels him over the rim of her mug. “Sorry.”

Edie sighs, shaking her head at him like she used to do when he got into neighborhood scuffles, the angry teen who hated the world for taking his father away too soon.

“You don’t really know Charles very well anymore, do you?”

“What? Of course I know--”

“No, I don’t think that you do,” his mother interrupts. “You remember him as your husband and as the man you knew four years ago. But his life is very different now and so is he. You should find out what’s changed…maybe learn how to be in each other’s lives again, as friends first.”

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, rolling the liquid with his tongue and relishing the burn when he swallows. It makes him feel marginally better. “So, what? Take him out on dates and try to get my _husband_ to fall in love with me again?” 

His mother smiles and pats him gently on the knee, kindly ignoring his slip about Charles even as he inwardly cringes. “Is it such a bad idea?”

“No,” Erik concedes, rubbing his face with both hands tiredly. “No, I guess it’s not.” 

\---

In the end he decides to wait a few days before attempting to see Charles again, giving them both a chance to recover from their rather painful discussion. Edie tells him that Charles is usually home early on Thursdays, with no late classes or office hours and suggests that Erik visit him at the brownstone he’s currently sharing with Raven.

He feels a bit of relief when he sees the address; more so when he arrives at the Upper West Side neighborhood where it’s located. Raven hadn’t moved there yet from what Erik remembers, and so there won’t be any unpleasant memories evoked – he hopes - when he visits. He doesn’t really know this area well, but manages to find the brownstone easily, right across the street from a tiny coffee shop just as Edie described.

It occurs to him as he’s standing in front of the shop window, that he probably should have called Charles first. There’s no guarantee that he’s even home, despite his mother’s familiarity with Charles’ schedule. He stands there on the sidewalk, debating internally for what feels like hours, before turning and pushing the door to the coffee place open and stepping inside.

The place is half full, regulars sprawled on the couches and small tables with their mugs and laptops as the barista restocks the pastry display. It’s quiet and homey and so very _Charles_ ; Erik’s fairly certain that his ex-husband frequents it enough to know everyone here.

“How can I help you?” the pretty brunette asks with a smile. _Angel_ , the name tag says. 

“Three coffees to go please. Two expressos and a vanilla latte with an extra shot of vanilla.”

The girl chuckles, ringing in his order as she says, “Sounds like an order for the Prof.” 

“Pardon? Do you mean…Charles? Professor Xavier? You know him?”

“Sure,” Angel says, handing him his change before starting on the order. “I assume since he lives right across the street you’re buying it for him. He’s the only one I know who orders his latte like that.” She shrugs when Erik doesn’t answer, and continues on, “Could be wrong though. Maybe you’re the one with the sweet tooth?”

“No, it’s definitely for him,” he answers with a grin, turning to look out the front window and across the street. “I can’t drink…”

The words die from his lips, his attention distracted by the man who has suddenly appeared on Charles doorstep, ringing the bell. Erik can only see him from the back, tall and blond, with broad shoulders and an athletic build evident under a dark grey suit. 

It’s Raven who answers the door, her arms going immediately around the man in a warm embrace, a smile on her face as she turns slightly to holler behind her, presumably for Charles who appears beside her just a few moments later. 

Charles, dressed in a gorgeous navy blue suit, grinning from ear to ear.

Charles, turning to kiss his sister goodbye, before reaching to take the man’s hand and making their way to the Volkswagen Hybrid parked in front of the brownstone.

Charles, who tilts his head to return the soft, lingering kiss that the man gives him, before settling into the passenger seat.

Erik stares out the window, watching as the car pulls away from the curb and drives off. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, before Angel finally catches his attention and hands him a tray with his coffees. 

“Here,” he says as he hands back one of the cups, amazed that his voice sounds so even when his insides have been shredded and every part of him is _screaming_. “I don’t think I’ll be needing that latte after all.”

\---

The walk across the street is a blur, his mind still reeling from the implications of what he’s just witnessed. 

Charles is on a _date_.

Charles is _dating_ someone. For how long? Just who is this man kissing Charles with such ease and familiarity? Raven obviously knows him well, judging from her delighted reaction to his arrival on her door step.

And all this time Erik thought he was the reason for Charles’ reticence; that Charles was wary of a reconciliation when he couldn’t trust Erik’s feelings. To discover – by accident – that there was another compelling factor…why didn’t Charles _tell_ him there was somebody else?

He has no idea the expression he’s wearing when the front door opens, but it’s enough to get him a sympathetic look from Raven and an invitation inside without comment. She leads them down the hall and into the living room, guiding Erik onto the couch before dropping down beside him with a sigh. 

“Did you bring coffee?” she asks, not waiting for an answer before reaching for the tray in Erik’s hand and setting it down on the cluttered coffee table. She hands one to Erik, before taking a sip of the other and says, “Charles isn’t here.”

“I know,” he says, taking a fortifying sip of his own coffee as Raven watches, a mix of worry and curiosity on her face. “I saw him leave with his date.”

“Shit.” She covers her face with both hands, before dragging them through her hair with another tired sigh. “I’m sorry Erik. We had no idea you were coming over today. Charles…fuck, I _told_ him to tell you about Steve.”

Steve. His chest constricts at Raven’s words, and Erik has to take a deep breath and will himself to relax. “I’m not sure it would have been easier hearing it directly from Charles,” he admits. “Did he say why?”

He doesn’t clarify for Raven – there are a million ways he can end that particular question. Why didn’t Charles tell him he was dating? Why did he decide to move on with this…Steve? Why won’t he give the two of them another chance?

The look on Raven’s face, brow furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line, is an expression Erik has seen many times, usually preceding a rant about her brother’s shortcomings. Whatever the reason for Charles’ behaviour, it’s clear that Raven doesn’t approve.

“He said he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already has. That you were dealing with so much…your accident, finding out about the divorce. Logan. That this was something you didn’t need to know, especially since--”

“Since I wanted to reconcile so badly,” Erik interjects, “and clearly Charles doesn’t.”

Raven snorts, taking another sip of coffee before redirecting her annoyance at Erik. “God you two are such idiots! Of course Charles wants you, Erik! He’s always wanted you, wanted you to fight for your marriage! You were the one who threw in the towel and signed the papers! And it took Charles ages to finally let go and move on and _now_ you show up! Now! Two years too late and with no memory of every crappy thing that’s ever happened! Of course he’s going to push you away! Of course he’s not going to tell you about Steve! He’s trying to do what he thinks you’d want if not for the accident and because he’s an insufferable jackass who thinks he knows what’s best for everybody!” 

By the time Raven stops ranting she’s paced the length of the hardwood floor multiple times, crossing the room back and forth in front of Erik with mounting agitation. He waits patiently as she takes deep breaths to cool down, eyes wandering the room until he spots the missing photo from their mantle at home – the one from their trip to Aspen, sitting on the end table next to Charles’ favorite mug.

“Do you like him? Steve, I mean.”

“Yeah. I do,” she answers, tone noticeably softer as she drops back onto the couch. “He’s an ex-Army guy - Special Ops of some kind though I never got the details. Now he’s an art dealer; that’s how I met him. Steve is…he’s a really good guy.”

It hurts to hear Raven’s words, even as he appreciates her directness. Her approval isn’t easy to get, especially when it comes to her brother and the fact that she clearly supports the relationship must mean that Steve has been good for Charles.

“Is he happy with Steve? Do you think they could have a future together?” The words feel all wrong, leaden and ungainly and nothing Erik could have ever imagined himself _thinking_ let alone saying out loud. But he owes it to Charles to hear the truth, even if it damns him to a life without his husband and best friend. To understand exactly what this all means to their relationship. Or what’s left of it.

Raven loops her arm around his and rests her head on his shoulder. He responds by pulling her closer. “Yes, Erik. I really think that they could.”

“What do you think I should do?” He hates how desperate he sounds to his own ears, though if Raven hears the hitch in his voice she pretends not to notice. 

“Go home and think about it. Really _think_ about what you want in your life because you need to make a choice. Either your marriage is the most important thing in the world and you fight tooth and nail to get it back or it’s not. It wasn’t before the accident. Whether it is now is up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last I promise. Erik only has a little more soul searching to do, courtesy of one Sebastian Shaw...


	4. Choices We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik makes some important decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we've come to the end of Erik's journey! There will be an epilogue to follow shortly, so hang in there folks! :D

If there’s anything even remotely close to positive coming from this miserable day, it’s that Raven seems to have forgiven him for his failings before the accident. She is subdued when she walks Erik to the door, giving him a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye.

It’s a rather different encounter from her first visit to the hospital, where she alternated between sobs of relief as she clutched at him desperately, to harshly berating him for his cold indifference towards Charles. Hank had to gently hold her back from doing more damage to his battered body, reminding her with a soft squeeze of his hand that Erik didn’t actually remember anything after 2010.

The trip home on the subway seems to take twice as long, his mind replaying over and over the events of the day. He can’t stop thinking about what happened; of Charles’ face when he saw Steve on his door step. Erik remembers well that delighted smile, and how it feels to be on the receiving end of it. How much he loved (loves) to bask in the glow that Charles seems to radiate when he’s happy, bright as the sun. The ever present ache in his gut twinges again, at the thought of that look gifted to someone else. Someone decidedly not Erik.

His mother is not there when he gets home; she’s en route to her own apartment to gather more books and changes of clothes to extend her stay at his place. And while he’s insisted, to no avail, that Edie stop worrying about him and resume her own life, he’s grateful to have her support. The quiet rattles him now in a way it never did before, his mind supplying imaginary scratches of a pen on test papers or a tired yawn from across the room.

The space seems almost cavernous tonight as he struggles with the damn coffee maker he didn’t buy, silently judging him for his ineptitude. Once he gets the machine started he heads to the bedroom to change, swapping his turtleneck and khakis for a t-shirt and sweatpants. He returns to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee, before settling on the couch with his laptop.

He spends an hour doing research on Steve Rogers, based on the little bits of information gleaned earlier from his conversation with Raven. Unfortunately there’s not a lot for Erik to find online – there’s a degree in the Arts from Columbia University, followed by a career in the Army. He uncovers no real details save for a brief mention of a rather impressive service record, which apparently includes a Medal of Honor for his time in Afghanistan. Currently Rogers is a private art dealer for some rather rich and important people, Tony Stark of Stark Industries being just one of his publicly listed clients.

Erik really, really, really dislikes Steve Rogers.

He picks up his cell phone and scrolls quickly through the contact list, stabbing the call button viciously when he gets to the right number. Rogers is his competition and he needs to know exactly who he’s dealing with, even as his conscience shouts loudly that Charles isn’t a prize to be won. But the need to know more about the man who's replaced him is overwhelming all rational sense and good judgement, and Erik finds himself barking rather harshly when the line finally picks up on the other end.

 “I need your help,” Erik says, “I want to know everything, I mean _everything_ , about a guy named Steve Rogers.”

\---

It’s an hour and a half later when Erik opens the door to Moira, who shoves a large paper bag of Chinese take-out into his arms before making herself at home on his couch.  She says nothing to him, watching as he unboxes containers of noodles, beef stir fry and Kung Pao chicken, her eyes assessing every inch of Erik and the empty condo.

“Here,” she says, handing him a USB stick in exchange for the food and the glass of white wine Erik sets in front of her. “Everything I could get my hands on regarding one Steve Rogers. More than what you can find on the internet but definitely not everything. You need surprisingly high clearance levels to access some of his records.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

Moira scoffs, before her expression turns serious and she nudges his leg with her foot. “Whatever you’re looking for, Erik, you’re not going to find it. Rogers is on the up and up. They sent him out mostly for rescue missions deep in enemy territory. Nothing but glowing praise from his superiors and squad mates in his files.”  
  
“Well that’s just wonderful isn’t it?” Erik bites back. “Charles is fucking G.I. Joe.”

He ignores the raised eyebrow from Moira, choosing instead to bury the snide comments in his food. It’s piping hot and smells delicious – their usual order from late nights at the precinct – but Erik barely registers the taste, washing everything down with a mouthful of wine.

“Did you know? About Rogers?”

Moira shakes her head, swallowing a bite of chicken before leaning back with a sigh. “No. So I don’t think Charles has been seeing him for very long. He would have said something I think, if it was that serious.”

It should make him feel better, hearing Moira’s assurances but Erik _knows_ what he saw today – Charles is unmistakeably fond of Steve Rogers no matter the status of their relationship. He’d been aware, even as he dialed Moira that he was being irrational with his demand for information; that Charles wouldn’t appreciate any interference from Erik in his personal life.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits and it’s painful to realize how often he’s uttered these words in the past few weeks. “It was hard enough, finding out about the divorce and giving Charles space…but now? What the hell am I supposed to do about _this_?”

“Well we both know what Charles would say,” Moira answers, pouring more wine for them both as she continues, “he’d be pretty pissed with both of us for digging through Steve’s records. And he’d tell us to mind our own business. That he’s a big boy and he doesn’t need anyone checking up on his friends.”

Erik stares at the USB key on the coffee table, thinking about Charles’ face, how happy he looked when he saw Steve at the door. And he thinks about Charles’ face the other night as Erik walked him out, worry lines across his forehead and his lips pinched in a frown, saying he wanted the two of them to be friends, if nothing else.

He picks up the key and hands it to Moira, who tucks it into her pocket with a questioning look. Erik shakes his head and downs his glass of wine, wiping his lips absently with the back of his hand.

“I think…I think I need to let him go.”

Moira’s face gives nothing away, though her answer is telling. “You tried to do that already. Emphasis on ‘tried’, because I don’t think you were very successful, even with the divorce.”

Her words ring with a truth that he can’t deny; he’s certain he never got over Charles, no matter the circumstances that led to their split. But split they did, and his ex is moving on with his life, and Erik has been clinging to nothing but a memory.

“No, I guess not,” he answers, “but for both our sakes, I need to do it for good this time.”

\---

The cast on Erik’s arm comes off just in time for his next meeting with Shaw, almost eight weeks after he first woke up in the hospital.  Walking into the building is a strange experience; with no recollection of his years at the O.C.C.B. he has to rely on others to direct him to the right floor, and then over to the desk that he used to occupy.

Emma and Ororo are out, so he recognizes none of the faces around him. For the most part, people stop only briefly to offer a quick welcome and introduce themselves, before rushing off to their intended destination.

He does manage to get a bit more info from a man called Janos about Logan; that he requested a transfer to another precinct about three months before Erik’s accident. It helps to ease some of the ever present ache, knowing he doesn’t have to deal with Charles’ night with his ex-partner.

Erik’s eyes wander across his desk as he waits for Shaw to finish his call, the surface devoid of anything but a computer, a monitor and a stack of files. Sliding the top drawer open reveals a similar lack of personal items, an assortment of pens and post-it’s the extent of the contents. The bottom one holds yet more files, though he does notice the single picture frame tucked in the back corner.

Slamming the drawer shut garners a puzzled look from Janos at the photocopier, one that he studiously ignores. Erik doesn’t have to look to know that the black frame holds a picture of Charles, taken at the café where the two of them had their first date. It’s probably Erik’s favorite, a profile shot of his then-boyfriend of three months, laughing as he placed his usual order of Earl Grey with the barista. Every inch of Charles’ face is burned into his memory, from the curve of his cheek to the line of his jaw; the spark in those blue eyes brilliant and captivating.

“Ah Erik, there you are!”

Shaw’s voice manages to drag him out of his melancholy, and Erik stands to greet him with a forced smile. They make their way into the Captain’s office and engage in some meaningless small talk, with Sebastian inquiring after his health and his sessions with the therapist to recover his memories. He deals easily with Shaw’s perfunctory questions; the man’s only real concern is that the department psychologist approved Erik’s request to return to work.

“Well, the paperwork is all done, my boy. Desk duty for a week, tops, and then we’ll have you back out there catching criminals where you belong.”

 It’s difficult to muster the level of excitement that Shaw is exuding, though thankfully the man seems completely oblivious to Erik’s mood. He does his best to pay attention as Shaw updates him on the latest cases, but he finds his interest lacking, his mind wandering always back to Charles.

“I know it’s been tough on you Erik,” the Captain says, interrupting his train of thought with a sympathetic smile. “But I think getting back to work is what you need to get better. You can focus on what you do best, and forget about that ex-husband of yours. Stop letting him distract you from what’s important.”

Erik can’t help it; he bristles at Shaw’s words. “Is that what I told you? That my _job_ was more important than Charles? Because if that’s the case than I definitely deserved to lose him.”

The Captain frowns, the genial smile morphing into something harsh and cold. “You have a brilliant future ahead of you, Erik, and there’s no telling how far you can go in the NYPD with my support. The fact that he didn’t understand your sacrifice, the level of dedication you have to—”

“Thank you, Sir,” he interrupts, his stomach roiling with disgust – with himself and with the man whose path he’s chosen to follow so blindly for all these years. “It doesn’t matter, the marriage is over and there’s no going back. I won’t forget my priorities, Captain. Never again.”

His assertion seems to please Shaw well enough, and he gives Erik a nod of approval, patting him on the back as they leave his office and say goodbye.  Emma and Ororo are back at their desks now but he walks right past them, Erik’s feet taking him down the elevator and out the front door. He walks and walks and doesn’t stop once, not until he makes it back to the home he used to share with Charles, and empties the contents of his stomach all over his bathroom floor.

\---

Erik is in the middle of packing when the doorbell rings, his room still a jumbled mess of clothes and personal effects. The suitcases at least are packed and ready, though the rest of his belongings still need to be boxed up for storage.  

His mother’s voice floats in from the other room, followed by the familiar timber of Charles’ laugh. It’s been over three weeks since the last time he saw Charles, leaving the townhouse with Rogers on their date. They’ve texted each other occasionally since then, though the messages have all been short and stilted. And he’s only spoken on the phone with Charles once, when Erik called to tell him that he was selling the condo.

“Do you need any help?”

Erik looks up from the box marked ‘Donations’, to see Charles standing in the doorway to their old bedroom. He looks uncomfortable, and unsure of his welcome, and it makes Erik wonder if this is how it will always be; if Erik will ever be able to look at Charles again and not feel his heart breaking.

“No, there’s not much more to do,” he answers, tossing an old purple t-shirt into the garbage pile. “All the furniture and fixtures are part of the sale, so it’s really only my clothes and my junk that needs to get packed.”

Charles stoops to pick up one of Erik’s grey hoodies off the floor, and clutches it tightly in his hands. “That’s good,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on an old gravy stain on one of the sleeves. “I’m glad…it’s good that the condo sold so quickly. One less thing to worry about.”

“Yeah.”

The silence is awkward, and Erik doesn’t know what to say to Charles without making it worse. He goes back to his work sorting and boxing his things, content to have Charles close again, if only for a little while longer.

“I’m sorry.” The words are a bare whisper, and when Erik turns he is surprised to see the stricken look on Charles’ face. “You did all this because of me didn’t you? Quitting your job, selling the condo. And now you’re leaving for Germany with Edie! It’s not what I wanted, Erik! I don’t…I never wanted you to leave!”

He reaches for Charles’ hands, tilting his chin up so he has no choice but look up at Erik. “Hey, hey, none of that,” he chides. “You didn’t make me do anything. It’s what I want…what I need.”

Charles shakes his head, his eyes stormy and chin set; it’s obvious that his ex-husband doesn’t believe him. “You love being a cop, Erik. It’s what you’ve wanted your whole life. Why would you suddenly decide to quit, if it wasn’t because of me? Because of us? It’s not fair! I didn’t ask you to run away!”

He sighs, nudging Charles backwards to sit on the end of the bed, and crouches down so that the two of them are eye to eye. “I quit, because it turns out you were right about Shaw. He doesn’t give a fuck about me, or my life. And I don’t want to be that man anymore. I don’t want to be _Shaw_. Someone who puts their job first at everyone else’s expense. That’s how I lost you in the first place.”

“Erik--”

“It’s not a ploy to get you back,” he interrupts, and realizes only as he’s saying the words that it’s the honest truth. “I need to figure out who I am now. Without my memories. Without you. And I can’t do that around Shaw. That’s it, that’s the reason.”

“What about Germany,” Charles asks, the anger deflating as he squeezes Erik’s hands. “You don’t have to move to another country, Erik. I told you...I want us to be friends. I don’t want to lose you completely.”

He could lie, Erik thinks, and tell Charles what he so desperately wants to hear. That Erik is alright, or _will_ be alright, and they can still have the friendship Charles is so determined to keep. But Erik is never going to let go if they’re in the same city; will always want _more_ , even though Charles has obviously moved on.

“I won’t be gone forever, Charles,” he answers, keeping his tone light. “I’d miss the pizza too much.”

“Please don’t joke about this, Erik--”

Erik sighs. “I always meant to take Mama back to Germany for an extended visit. So she can see the old neighborhood and catch up with her friends. Now we don’t have to rush back, and maybe even take some time to visit Spain or Italy.” He squeezes Charles’ hand again, the grin spreading wide and mischievous across his face. “I’ve got a lot of alimony money I need to spend.”

It has the desired effect, dragging a choked laugh from Charles that turns into a pained grimace. It takes every ounce of Erik’s self-control to ignore the wet sheen in those oh familiar blue eyes; to will away his own instinct to reach out and comfort.

“I’ve handled this all wrong,” Charles admits, exhaling with a huff as he slowly pulls his hands from Erik’s grasp. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I should have told you about Steve.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not sure it would have made a difference. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

There’s so much that Erik wants to say to Charles, and yet the words refuse to come, lodged as they are in the back of his throat. Charles is doing no better, the expression on his face pained as he opens his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again with a frustrated growl.

Finally, when the silence becomes untenable, Charles pulls Erik into a hug.

“Take care of yourself, Erik, and Edie too. Just promise me. Promise me that you’ll come back.”

Erik takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Charles and holding him tight. He wants to commit this moment to memory forever; not to mourn what they’ve lost, but to be grateful for the love they’ve shared for so many years.

“Be happy, Charles,” Erik says, voice rough with emotion. Charles is shaking in his arms, fighting like Erik not to break down into tears. “And I promise, I _will_ come back.”


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles sees a familar face at Raven's art show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! Thank you all for your patience and for taking the time to read this little story; I hope you like the way it ends. :D
> 
> For those of you who might be interested, I have two ficlets set in this verse that expands a little on Charles' and Steve's relationship. You can find them [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/902067/chapters/5424263) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/902067/chapters/5603462).

Hank is there to meet him when he arrives, steering him quickly up the stairs to Raven’s exhibit on the second floor.  The buzz of the crowd seems to fill the spacious room, from the hardwood floors up to the ceiling rafters, the sound washing over Charles as he steps gingerly into the gallery space.

“This is a great turnout,” he says, his eyes darting around the room until they land on his sister, resplendent in a dress of sapphire blue. “How is she?”

“In her element,” Hank answers, the smile on his lips soft and fond. “She’s amazing. And this is her best collection yet.”

Charles nods; though he has no real understanding or appreciation for contemporary art, he’s always loved Raven’s work. From the start Charles has been her champion and her greatest supporter, and it warms his heart to see her success now, after so many years of relative obscurity.

“Care for a drink, sir?”

One of the servers interrupts his train of thought - an attractive brunette with pretty green eyes. She smiles at him, her gaze darting quickly between the two men before coming to rest on Charles. It’s an obvious enough appraisal that even Hank notices, though Charles is quick to end the interaction, taking a glass of white wine off the tray with thanks before turning away, fixing his attention on one of the paintings on the wall.

Hank snorts. “Well that was subtle.”

“What? I’m not here to meet anyone.” Charles takes a sip of his wine and grins. “And she’s not really my type.”

“No I guess not,” Hank laughs. “They can’t all be Steve Rogers you know.”

Charles sobers at the mention of Steve, though he tries hard not to let it show. He feels a little bad at the mortified expression that blooms across Hank’s face, though not bad enough to help his new brother-in-law as he fumbles over an apology.

“I’m sorry Charles! I didn’t mean to bring him up! I know it’s only been four months and you’re probably not ready to joke about it yet. I don’t know what I was thinking…I think I had too many glasses of champagne in the limo with Raven--” 

“No, it’s fine.” He smiles, giving Hank’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “The decision was mutual, and we have no regrets. Plus, you never know. Maybe I _will_ meet someone tonight. Someone I’ll get along with even better than Steve.”

His weak attempt at a joke is less than successful, judging by the sympathetic look Hank sends his way. Charles tries to quell his growing irritation by turning to other topics, distracting them both with a discussion about the latest round of funding cuts and the impact on his research. It’s enough to take Charles’ mind off of the dismal state of his personal life, until Hank is called away to meet some of Raven’s other guests.

As he wanders the room his mind drifts back to a night almost two years ago, when he first met Steve at another of Raven’s shows. He’d been so reluctant to attend, too wrapped up in his misery over the divorce and unable to stomach the company of strangers. It didn’t help that Raven’s centerpiece was a life size canvas of his ex-husband; a moody, atmospheric oil painting that managed to capture every bit of Erik’s beauty and intensity.

He’s grateful at least, that there isn’t another painting of Erik here tonight.

Charles exchanges his empty wine glass for a new one, before making his way over to a somewhat secluded corner of the gallery. He finds his brain clinging stubbornly to Erik; to a man he’s now been divorced from for almost three years.

They had agreed not to keep in contact when Erik left for Germany, to give them both time and space to heal. It was difficult for Charles, especially in those early months, not to just pick up the phone and call. He spent many hours of the day wondering if Erik ever regained his memories; he spent as many hours every night wondering if Erik thought of him at all.

Eighteen months later, and Erik is still ever present in his psyche.

Eighteen months later, and the man still leaves a dull ache in his chest.

“Charles.”

The voice is painfully familiar, sending a jolt of – surprise? joy? apprehension? – through his entire body. He turns to find the subject of his musings standing right in front of him, as though his brooding has somehow conjured Erik from thin air, rendering him speechless with shock.

“Charles?” Erik repeats, sounding both nervous and a little concerned. He reaches to grip Charles’ forearm, squeezing it gently as Charles continues to stare. “Are you alright?”

“What…how…Erik!” he manages to stutter, his arms wrapping themselves around Erik quite unexpectedly, pulling him into a tight embrace.  “What are you doing here?”

“I just got back last week,” Erik answers, smiling as they slowly pull apart. “I got Raven’s email about her show and…well, here I am.”

He’s still a little stunned by Erik’s sudden reappearance, though he does manage to rein his emotions in check. The last thing he wants to do is to blurt out something ridiculous, and make things uncomfortable between them.

“You look good,” Charles says, unable to stop himself from grinning like a loon. “You look amazing, actually.”

And he _does_ , looking completely different from the last time Charles saw him, still too thin from the accident and his face lined with sorrow. The man in front of him now is full of life, eyes warm and happy, impeccably dressed in a dark navy suit and open collared shirt.

“So do you,” Erik remarks, and the way he’s staring so intently makes Charles’ stomach do a double flip. The wide smile lessens slightly at his next words, though he doesn’t take his eyes off of Charles. “Is Steve here? Are you…how are things? Good?”

“Things are good,” he answers, and doesn’t fail to notice the smile slipping off Erik’s face. “And I hope things are good for Steve too, though I wouldn’t know. We’re not together anymore. He’s overseas; back in the Army where he belongs.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Charles sighs, and tries not to read too much into the almost hopeful expression on Erik’s face. “Don’t be sorry, he needed to do it and I supported him. He had a best friend, someone he thought died in combat years ago. Turns out he’s been a POW all this time. He’s gone to get him.”

Erik nods. “Understandable, I hope he finds his friend.” He reaches to touch Charles again, only to drop his hand rather abruptly. “Are you okay? With everything?”

He looks impatient, but Charles can tell that the frustration is directed inwards, at Erik’s own inability to express himself.  If anything, Charles finds it ridiculously endearing, the wave of fondness he feels sudden and overwhelming.

“I’m fine, really. How are you? How’s Edie?”

Erik’s smile is infectious, and Charles can’t help but grin at his enthusiastic response. “Mama is wonderful. She’s coming back in a few weeks, after I get everything settled with the new house. She can’t wait to see you Charles; she’s missed you very much.”

“I’ve missed her too,” he says, swallowing the rather sizeable lump in his throat. “So much, Erik. I’ve missed her so much.”

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, surrounded by a sea of people yet utterly alone, lost in each other’s presence as they haven’t been for years. Finally, something in the distance seems to catch Erik’s eye, shaking them both from their reverie.

“I should probably say hi to Raven,” Erik says, as he takes Charles’ hand. “I’ll…see you later?”

“No,” he blurts out, and Erik looks surprised, though he doesn’t let go of Charles. “I mean…Raven is pretty busy right now, with the show. Do you…want to grab a cup of coffee with me? We can catch up, yeah?”

The answering smile on Erik’s face is blinding. “Yes, Charles,” he says, voice soft and warm. “I’d love that. I'd love that very much.”


	6. Alternate Ending - Vive ut vivas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Alternate Ending:** Charles and Steve version

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this basically for the 4 other people in fandom who also enjoy Charles/Steve lol. Takes place about 2.5 years after Erik leaves for Germany.

“We’re almost there. It’s up ahead.”

The light is just coming over the horizon, dark purples and reds peeking above the tree tops as they trudge along the path. It is the possibly the earliest that Charles has ever gotten up in his entire life – though he’s certainly rolled into _bed_ at this hour on plenty of occasions. 

“God I hope you brought coffee.”

Steve laughs, tugging Charles’ arm and pulling him close, kissing him soundly as Charles sputters in a half-hearted protest. It’s warm and invigorating all at once, a shiver making its way down his back when Steve gives him a playful nip. When they pull apart Charles grins, and Steve reaches to takes his hand. They walk side by side the rest of the way, Steve rubbing Charles’ fingers to help ward off the slight chill in the air.

“Ta da!”

They’ve made it to the top of the hill and onto an outcropping overlooking the lake, just as the sun appears over the horizon. Steve looks incredibly pleased as he pulls a blanket out of his pack, laying it on the grass before pulling Charles down to sit beside him.

“Isn’t this nice?” Steve asks, “Aren’t you glad we didn’t sleep in and miss the sunrise?”

“Ugh, you are insufferably cheerful at 5:30 in the morning,” he mutters, even as he snuggles against the arm Steve wraps around his shoulders. “We’ve been together for almost three years and I still can’t get used to it.”

Steve’s low chuckle makes Charles smile, though he takes care to hide his pleased expression under his hood. “It’s just my sunny personality,” is the answer he gets. “I’m afraid I’m too old to change my ways. Must be tough for you, living with a guy like me.”

“Terrible,” Charles agrees, only too happy to lean close for a soft and lingering kiss. “Frankly I don’t know how I can stand it. I mean, you’re handsome, and fun. You volunteer with underprivileged kids and help little old ladies cross the street. You’re a war hero with an art degree _and_ you’re great in the sack. I swear it’s a bloody chore putting up with you.”

By the time he’s finished his faux rant Charles is laughing, and Steve has playfully shoved him away to reach for the thermos in his bag. He pours them both a cup of coffee and hands one to Charles, who quickly takes a long sip of the fragrant brew.

“Happy?”

Charles sighs, “Oh this is good. I love you.”

“I know,” Steve grins. “I love you too.”

They watch the sunrise together in companionable silence, enjoying their coffee as streaks of orange and yellow gradually color the morning sky. Moments like this are still rare enough to be treasured, when Charles has no curriculum to write or papers to mark, and Steve isn’t busy with one of his art clients. He finds himself relaxing to the relative quiet of nature, far away from the bustle of traffic and city life.

“This is nice,” Charles admits, squeezing Steve’s hand as he sets his coffee down on the grass. “You really do have the best ideas.”

He can’t decipher the expression – nerves perhaps, mingled with hope? – that crosses Steve's face, though he doesn’t have to wait very long to discover the reason.

“Charles,” Steve starts, a little hesitant as he maneuvers himself in place, crouching in front of him on the blanket. “I want to tell you something, and I need you to listen please, until I’m finished. Is that okay?”

Confused, and possibly a little alarmed, Charles can only nod his head. “Okay.”

“These three years have been some of the happiest of my life,” Steve says, taking both of Charles’ hands between his own. “After losing Bucky…and Peggy too, I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone else. Anyone I could love as much…the way I love you.” He smiles, his expression rueful yet determined. “And I know it was so tough for you too, to move on after Erik. He was such a big part of your life, and you were together for a long time. But I feel like we’re both finally at a place where we’ve left those old ghosts behind.”

Even a year ago Charles might have disagreed, when Erik had contacted him out of the blue to say that he was staying in Germany indefinitely. The ache had been unexpected and harsh, doubly so when Erik had told him the reason; that he had started seeing his old girlfriend Magda again, now divorced with two children from her first marriage. Thinking about Erik falling in love and building a family without Charles had been devastating, even as he tried to be happy for his ex-husband. But moving on was something they both agreed was for the best, instead of clinging to a marriage that had long ceased to exist.

“I want to give you this,” Steve continues, pulling what is clearly a ring box from his jacket pocket and depositing it in Charles’ hand. “I want you to know how I feel about you. How much I want to be with you. Always.”

“Steve, this is…”

“Wait, just let me…please,” he insists, and Charles nods. Steve takes a deep breath and smiles him, so sweet and sincere that it warms Charles inside and out. “You don’t have to marry me, though I want you to. I’m asking you to. But you don’t have to right now, or _ever_ if you don’t want to. I just...you make me so happy, Charles, and I want to make you happy too—”

“You _do_ \--”

“—I want to spend the rest of my life trying,” Steve continues, and Charles is too overcome to interrupt him again. “I don’t want to promise forever, because you can’t always keep a promise like that, even if you mean it with all your heart. But I swear I’ll always fight for us, Charles. Always.”

He takes a deep breath and lets the moment wash over him, savors the earnest look on Steve’s face as he flips the lid open on the jewelry box. Nestled inside is a thick platinum band set with a rectangular diamond in the center, the color of the mid-summer sky.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes.

“I got it because it matches your eyes.”

Taking the ring from the box he turns it around and around with his fingers, feeling the weight of it against his skin. He notices an inscription on the inside and reads it out loud. “ _Vive ut vivas_. What does it mean?”

Steve smiles. “Live, so that you may live.” He stares meaningfully at Charles for a moment and then adds, “Live your life to the fullest, and damn the consequences.”

It’s perfect; a reflection of who Steve is as well as all the moments they’ve shared since their third date, when Charles had jumped out of an airplane for the first time, holding Steve's hand. Charles throws his arms around Steve and knocks them over, the two landing on the blanket with a grunt. He presses their lips together in a desperate kiss, sloppy and rough with emotion, trying to put into the words the elation he’s feeling for this wonderful man. He groans when Steve rolls them over and pulls away slightly, pinning Charles beneath him with a smirk.

“Do you like it?” The words are teasing, but Charles can hear the uncertainty in Steve’s voice.

“I love it,” he says. “I love _you._ ”

Steve kisses him again, swiping his tongue softly against Charles’ lips. Refusing any attempts to deepen the connection, he chooses instead to drive Charles mad by mouthing softly at his ears and along the curve of his throat. “So, what do you say?”

“I say yes,” Charles answers, as sure of his feelings for Steve as he is of wanting a future together. The specter of his failed marriage no longer haunts him as it once did; Charles is ready for the road ahead. “Vive ut vivas.”

 


End file.
